


This Form of Flattery

by okapi



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Case fic (sort of), M/M, Not Fluff, Relationship Issues, Safe-Cracking, Theft, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 08:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18116669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: For the Ides of March!To recover Watson's pearls, Sherlock Holmes consults an amateur cracksman, but not everything and everyone is what they seem.Holmes/Watson. Raffles/Bunny. Theft fic. Not fluff. Title is the dedication ofThe Amateur Cracksmanfrom E. W. Hornung to his brother-in-law, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading _The Amateur Cracksman_ [note: I haven't read the later Raffles stories] reminded me of a lot of the trust issues between Holmes & Watson in the Sherlock Holmes canon. So this isn't the fun jewel-theft fic I was expecting to write, but I hope you enjoy, nonetheless. This is a mix of "Wilful Murder" and "Charles Augustus Milverton."

“Kept in the dark and fed excrement—"

“Or nothing at all.”

“—until he sees fit to enlighten me. No better than a mushroom! I’m sick of it!”

For a while, they sipped their whiskeys, Watson’s second, Manders’ fourth, in tense silence, then Manders repeated, with disgust,

“Sick!”

Watson sighed.

“I empathise, I do. Being sent on wild goose chases. Being used. Being mistrusted. And all because, according to Holmes, my expression, my behaviour would be a liability. I would give the whole thing, whatever it is, away. Or so he says.”

Manders snorted. “If Raffles only knew…”

“Holmes pretended to be dead for three years. He kept me in the dark so that I might convince the world that his death was true, so that my affectionate regard for him would not tempt me to an indiscretion which might betray him to his enemies. More recently, he has pretended to be dying, before my very eyes, and afterwards protested that ‘among your many talents, Watson, dissimulation finds no place.’ He needed me to be genuinely, profoundly, horribly distraught so that I might play a prescribe role in his scripted farce. He pulls my heart-strings like a puppeteer, for show, for verisimilitude, for his own purposes. Afterwards, naturally, he offers apologies. So many apologies, but no remorse. He never mends his ways!”

“I once accepted Raffles’ reticence as a necessary convention. I once thought my acquiescence a matter of the weaker nature subjugating itself to the stronger, but why _should_ I trust in him when his trust in me is so wanting? And why _shouldn’t_ I trust myself, and why shouldn’t Raffles trust _me_ , regardless of the mess I’ve made of my own affairs?”

“Holmes has sent me from Dartmoor to Little Purlington to Lausanne, with no more than a matchstick’s worth of truth…”

Manders shook his head. “If he only knew…”

Watson lowered his voice. “On an unrelated matter, thank you for the tip about the Northumberland place.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They drank. Then Watson announced,

“I’ve taken rooms in Queen Anne Street.”

“You’re leaving Baker Street?!”

“It might come to that.”

Watson leaned in and began to recount a story.

Manders quickly downed the rest of his whiskey and ordered another. He listened with rapt attention, too rapt, perhaps, because Watson’s tale was momentarily suspended when Manders accidently crushed the glass in his hand.

When the mess had been mopped up and Watson had bandaged Manders’ hand with a towel provided by the bar-keep, Watson resumed his narrative.

Ignoring Watson’s advice and the bark-keep’s stern glance, Manders nursed yet another whiskey; then he declared, with all the solemnity and erudition of a man well into his cups,

“I am going to pearls your get back, Wat-tor Doc-son.”

“Nonsense. Forgive me, it was most unwise of me to mention them. Do us both a favour and put the matter out of your mind completely. Go home. Sleep. I always find the world much less gloomy and myself much more forgiving in the morning.”

Watson paid the bill, including charges for towel and glass, and poured Manders into a cab before heading for Baker Street on foot.

* * *

When Watson entered the sitting room, Holmes was hunched over the desk, studying a document with a powerful magnifying lens.

“Still at it, Holmes?”

Holmes sat up and stretched. He gave Watson an up-and-down glance and huffed.

“And you without your Gladstone. I imagine that having to play the doctor at the pub without your trusty receptacle is much like finding myself at the scene of a crime and discovering that I’ve left my lens at home.”

Watson smiled. “As if the latter ever happens. But how did you know?”

“Small amounts of blood on your sleeve, but no injury to your person. You could’ve broken up a fight, but your clothing would be in more disarray. So, first aid it is. How is young Manders?”

“Drunk.”

Holmes hummed.

Watson fixed himself a whiskey and soda and dropped gracelessly into his armchair.

“You might unburden yourself,” said Holmes after a few minutes of pregnant silence.

“Why bother?” retorted Watson.

“Come now, Watson. Tell me.”

“About Manders?”

Holmes shrugged. “I’d rather hear about the flower seller to whom you gave twenty pounds earlier today.”

Watson bolted upright in his seat. “Holmes!”

“Oh, don’t look so affronted, Watson! It’s not _spying_ to look out one’s own street-facing window and see one’s,” Holmes coughed, “ _fellow lodger_ engaged in conversation with a street vendor. It’s not a _crime_ to observe the same gentleman’s feeble attempts at obfuscation when he seeks out his cheque book, hies to his financial institution of choice, and is seen, once more, at a precise hour later in the day with said seller. It is, perhaps, a breech to have a slight peek at his bank book and note the amount of withdrawal, but there you are. I apologise for the last.”

“Holmes!”

“Oh, come, Watson. After your second meeting with the vendor, you were positively morose until the invitation arrived from young Manders, at which point you leapt at the opportunity to drown your sorrow in the most socially acceptable manner for one of your class.”

Watson harrumphed. “Should I have declined Manderes’ invitation and just gone to war?”

“Who is she, Watson?”

“She _was_ ,” Watson tilted his head and study the liquid in his glass, “an actress and a singer. I met her a few years ago.” Watson spoke the last few words very carefully.

“Music hall?”

“Yes. A place in the East End.”

Watson said no more. Finally, Holmes prompted,

“Watson?

It was nothing short of a transformation. The eyes that met Holmes’s were dark and wild, the lips contorted in an unnatural snarl.

“Mary was dead! You were dead! She was kind to me! She _looked_ at me when it seemed the whole world was politely averting their gaze while I gradually expired! What the deuce of it?!”

Holmes blanched, then said softly, “Ah, I see, Watson.”

“I’m sorry, Holmes.” Watson buried his face in his hands. “I _am_ sorry.”

“No need to apologise, Watson.”

“Her name’s Maisie. She looked a bit like, well…”

Holmes made a noise.

Watson continued his narrative but did not complete his unfinished statement.

“She was in a spot of trouble. She didn’t ask, but I wanted to help her. Of course, I didn’t have much money myself. I wasn’t seeing that many patients at the time. But she looked so much like…”

He sighed.

“…and I thought, God help me, I thought Mary would have wanted me to help her. _And so I gave her Mary’s pearls_.”

Watson paused and turned his head towards Holmes.

“I had them finely set: the six she’d received, plus two large pink ones, strung right in the middle, which I gave her. Beautiful gold scallops and a scallop-shaped clasp. Don’t you remember? She wore them on our wedding day.”

Holmes’ reply was almost inaudible.

“I’m afraid I didn’t afford myself of the pleasure of attending the ceremony”

“Oh, yes.” Watson exhaled noisily, then slapped his palms to his thighs. “Well, that’s it.”

Holmes’s brown was furrowed. “I confess I find it difficult to believe, Watson, that you gave a music hall coquette your late wife’s jewelry.”

Watson leapt his feet and hurled the glass at the fire. It shattered against the stone arch of the fireplace with high-pitched shriek.

“Don’t believe it then! Don’t believe a word of it! And judge me all you like! What the devil do I care?!”

Holmes looked wide-eyed as Watson headed towards the stairs.

“And what of today, Watson?”

Watson stopped and turned back so that he was in profile to Holmes. “Well, she’s obviously not done better for herself. I was trying to elicit, most delicately, of course, what had happened to the pearls. As far as I could glean, they’re in the possession of a man named Ross-Reynolds. He was her,” Watson’s mouth twitched, “professional manager at the time. She is no longer an associate of his. So, there you have it, Holmes. Now you know precisely how big a fool I once was and still am given what I did today.”

“Watson.”

“I told Manders the story tonight. I shouldn’t have. He’s too sensitive by half. He swore he’d recover my pearls.” He chuckled mirthlessly, then sighed and turned his gaze to the ceiling. “As if anyone could. Who knows if this Ross-Reynolds still has them? They might well be decorating the neck of a lady half way around the world. Or at the bottom of the Thames with the rest of Mary’s treasure. Just as well Manders won’t remember a word that either of us said tonight. But he’s right about one thing: he and are silly mushrooms. Good night, Holmes. There’s your clay. Make your bricks.”

“Good night, Watson.”

Watson felt the weight of Holmes’ stare as he climbed the steps to his bedroom.

* * *

“Waiting in the bushes to ambush me, Raffles?” slurred Bunny as he stumbled out the cab. “Like a highwayman? Or a common thief?” he added with a snicker.

“Something like that,” said Raffles with arched eyebrows. “What happened to your hand?”

Bunny stared at the bandage, then looked at Raffles just as blankly. “I don’t know.”

“A mystery, is it? Easy, there. Do you need a hand?”

“No!”

But Bunny did need a hand and an arm to steady himself enough to reach his rooms without further injury. When the door was closed, Raffles asked,

“You didn’t let slip anything about the sapphires, did you?”

“I was having a drink with John Watson!”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“No, I did not tell a man who lodges with the world’s most famous detective that my partner and I were in Surrey last weekend cracking a so-called un-crackable Daimler safe and stealing an elephant’s worth of blue stones!”

“All right, all right,” said Raffles, placatingly. “But if you can’t remember how you cut up your hand, how can you be certain of what else happened or didn’t happen?”

“Well, I suppose if Inspector Mackenzie knocks on the door in a few minutes, I’ll know.” Bunny spun ‘round and flopped onto the arm of a sofa and began removing his clothes. “What were you doing tonight, Raffles? Playing with that fancy drill of yours?” Bunny made a lewd gesture.

“That ill becomes you, Bunny.”

“I’d rather you ill-be-come-me, Raffles.”

They exchanged heated glances for a moment, but Raffles shrugged and resumed his defense.

“You shouldn’t speak ill of it all the same. That ‘fancy drill’ of mine is what is keeping you and I in the black for the next couple of months.”

“But you didn’t even tell me what we were doing in Surrey! I had to figure it out t for myself when you snapped a triangle patch to my face and introduced me to that old Swinburne bag as ‘the latest success of Doctor Honeycomb, the famous eye surgeon.’”

Raffles shrugged again. “Your face, Bunny, would have given it all away. You know you can’t lie worth anything.” He strode to the mantlepiece and, with his back to Bunny, began to fiddle with an old abacus.

“I haven’t decided yet about Lupin’s invitation to go over and play. It does, at first glance, seem a bit like that Milchester Abbey business, you know, being engaged like the waiters and the band, but Cannes is assuredly _not_ Dorset, and I could swallow a good deal of pride for the sake of some sun. And we might have a spot of proper fun and return home bronzed and fit. I haven’t decided yet…”

He tapped the mantelpiece, then coughed and said in a softer and more cavalier voice,

“…by the way, would you like me to ill-become-you tonight, Bunny? I find myself quite eager to do so. I was thinking we might try…”

There was a soft thud.

“Bunny?”

Raffles turned.

Bunny lay in a heap on the bear skin rug, half-naked and sound asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Holmes, I apologise for speaking so harshly yesterday.”

“No apologies are necessary, my dear Watson.”

“Can we put it behind us? I shall endeavour to forget the whole matter. I sincerely hope you will as well.”

“As you wish.”

“Anything on today?”

“I have to attend to a few minor items at various points in the metropolis. I’ll be out. You?”

“I’ll be at my club for most of the day.”

“Very well.”

* * *

“He was a right gent, the doctor was, and he did me a right good turn,” said the woman half-hidden in shadows. “But Rossy got the pearls like he did everything else back then. He’s moved up in the world, of course.” She coughed. “I’m not much for singing these days, but I’ll do you a tune, if you like, mister.”

“No, thank you,” said Holmes, “but thank you for your honesty now and the kindness you once showed my friend. I wish you ‘good morning.’”

She grunted and fell back, seemingly swallowed up by the darkness and the grime.

* * *

“By the way, Watson, I shall leave out very early tomorrow and be gone all day and quite possibly the next as well.”

“A case?”

“Information gathering, no more.”

“Dangerous?”

“Not in the least.”

* * *

The evening of the second day found Holmes soaping and scrubbing and buffing beyond the demands of his usual cat-like cleanliness. When there was no longer any trace of Escott the plumber remaining on his person, he entered the sitting room and greeted Watson.

“Oh, Holmes, there you are! I say, you’re looking rather fresh and sparkling this evening. Can I interest you in a show tonight? Sadie Piper and Henry Blackwood in _Bluebird Follies_?”

“Sadie Piper?!” ejaculated Holmes.

“Yes, I know you’re not as warm an admirer of hers as I am but…”

Holmes quickly regained his composure. “Watson, did you know that she is affianced to a man named Ross-Reynolds?”

“Not the same man that…”

“The very one.”

Watson scowled, then said with utter contempt. “Is he her manager?”

“He calls himself a financier and lives in a domicile of extraordinarily unreliable plumbing in Willestead.”    

Watson shrugged. “Well, questionable choices in a woman’s personal life don’t necessarily mean a lack of art, talent, or skill. She’s a marvelous actress, Holmes. Highly underrated by the critics, in my opinion.”

“Women are inscrutable, Watson, and never more so when they are being paid to be something they aren’t.”

“That’s quite the philosophy,” said Watson dryly, “for a master of disguise to espouse.” Then he resumed his original expression and convivial tone, “But what about Blackwood? I remember you said you liked him in that play we saw that one time…”

“Not tonight. I have an engagement.”

“Tomorrow, then? Tomorrow’s the last performance before they take the show to the provinces, so to speak.”

Holmes frowned. “Is it really?”

“Yes! Look!” Watson flashed a page of newsprint at Holmes.

“So it is.” Holmes tapped his lips with his fingers and nodded. Then he made for his hat and coat.

“So, Holmes?” persisted Watson. “Shall I get tickets for tomorrow night?”

Holmes grunted.

“And may I ask with whom you’ve an engagement tonight?” added Watson following Holmes as the latter reappeared and took his leave, now with a sturdy valise in hand.

Holmes stopped at the threshold and turned back. “Mister A. J. Raffles,” he replied, “A professional consultation, his profession, not mine.”

Watson laughed. “Cricket? At this hour? What, have you a bat in there?”

Holmes hummed and patted the case. “More like a battering ram.”

* * *

“Mister Manders,” said Holmes as he neared the entrance to The Albany.

“Mister Holmes. Raffles is expecting you. Please give my regards to Doctor Watson and tell him that all is better.” He raised a hand. “The other evening, I found myself in need of a bit of medical assistance, nasty cut that required bandaging, which he dutifully and expertly provided.”

“I shall pass on the good news. Watson always lauds a speedy recovery. By the way, Mister Manders, didn’t I see you earlier today? In Willestead? Exiting the residence of a man by the name of Ross-Reynolds?”

Manders’ face turned pink. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mister Holmes. I’ve been no such place today.”

Holmes nodded. “Good. Because I deduced, you know it’s a professional habit of mine to deduce everyone and everything regardless of circumstance, that this man, the one who bore a striking resemblance to yourself, was requesting a loan and finding the financier far from than sympathetic to his plight.”

“I don’t know much about Ross-Reynolds but what I do know suggests he’s not a benevolent creditor. Certainly not a man I would go to if I were hard up. But, thankfully,” he smiled, “I’m in the black these days and have no such worries.”

“Financial solvency is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Tailors love it. By the way, are you a friend of Miss Sadie Piper?”

“The actress? No, I’m not. Why do you—?”

“Just curious. Well, I’d best not keep Mister Raffles waiting. Good evening, sir.”

“Mister Holmes.”

“Mister Raffles, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“I admit I was surprised. You said, ‘a professional consultation.’ I can’t imagine you’re trying to improve your bowling or batting.”

“No, I am afraid my athleticism runs to chasing the criminal classes and, on rare occasion, a spirited hound on the scent. I shall honour your time and mine, Mister Raffles, and come straight to the point: I need you, now, tonight, to teach me how to crack a Daimler safe.”

Raffles laughed. “Mister Holmes! How in the deuce would I know that?!”

“Because you cracked one less than ten days ago in Surrey when you stole the Berkshire sapphires.”

“That’s slander!”

“It’s truth, and you’d be wise not to press me to prove it. I’ve been following your non-sporting career with some interest, Mister Raffles, but I’m not now investigating you nor do I necessarily wish any of your past crimes to be brought home. As far as I know, you’ve never taken anything from anyone who couldn’t stand to lose a great deal, and you’ve never resorted to violence. You know how to get into a Daimler safe; it is a knowledge that I’m keen to acquire. I could offer to pay you for the instruction, but I suspect that with the Surrey theft you’re still quite flush and wouldn’t be tempted by any sum within my means. I also could offer my own services, should you require them, at a future date, free of charge. Or you could, quite simply, consider the request a form of flattery. From one expert to another.”

Raffles’ nostrils flared.

“Get out.”

Holmes rose. “Very well. My next appointment,” he checked his watch, “is in twenty minutes at Scotland Yard. I shall, at that time, inform Inspector Mackenzie of what I know regarding the disappearance of the Ardagh emeralds. And that, my good man, is not slander, but a threat with ample force, and by ‘force’ I mean ‘evidence,’ to back it.”

Raffles stepped menacingly towards Holmes, but Holmes simply raised his valise, then allowed it to drop back to the floor with a heavy metallic thud.

“That,” said Holmes, pointing to the case, “is a Hornung drill. To my knowledge, it is one of four of its kind in England, and the only instrument that can do the job. I’m here to learn, sir. The matter is personal, and it has to do with my friend, Doctor Watson, whom I regard with the same degree of _esteem_ with which you hold Mister Manders. For Watson’s sake, I will steal. I imagine that for Mister Manders’ sake you might, oh, shall we say, be persuaded to solve a crime. I shall ask you once more to teach me, please, how to crack a Daimler safe.”

They held each other’s gaze for a long, silent moment.

“A favour, when I need it, no questions asked,” said Raffles.

“Deal. You have my word as an Englishmen.”

Raffles’ chuckle rang with disdain; nevertheless, he shook Holmes’s outstretched hand.

“All right. Let’s roll up our sleeves, and begin at the beginning, Mister Holmes.”

“Splendid.”

* * *

“I’m sorry about last night, Bunny, I meant to come by, but things ran very late, and if I told you what I was doing, you would scarcely believe me.”

“It’s all right. The Northumberland bath is closed for repairs anyway.”

“Is it?”

“Mm. So, Sherlock Holmes paid you a visit? I saw him on my way out.”

“Yes, he wanted some lessons.”

“In what, pray tell? Not safe-cracking, I hope?”

“Cricket.”

Bunny laughed.

Raffles laughed, too. “It has to do with a case he’s working on.” He shook his head. “Strange, no?”

“Very.”

Bunny turned his back to Raffles and prepared two drinks. When he finished, he handed Raffles one of the glasses.

“To crime and cricket,” said Bunny, raising his own glass.

“And a form of flattery,” added Raffles with a smirk.

* * *

“I am sorry,” whispered Bunny as he leaned over Raffles unconscious form and pressed his lips to Raffles’ cheek. “I’m going to save us both and show you, once and for all, that I’ve got pluck enough to be your man. I’m not a silly rabbit, not by half, Raffles.”

Bunny packed the Hornung drill as well as Raffles’ set of lock-picking tools in a bag. He set an envelope bearing Raffles name on the table and slipped out the door in rubber-soled shoes.

* * *

“You’re alone, Doctor Watson?” asked the usher.

“Yes, Pierre. Mister Holmes is under the weather. Or so he claims.”

“It’s a pity, sir. Tonight’s Miss Sadie’s last night.”

“Yes. Last night of the show, you mean?”

The man made a noise and dropped his voice. “Her last night on the stage. She’s off to marry that,” he grunted and scowled at a very large gentleman a few rows in front of them, “manager of hers. Or so they say.”

Doctor Watson gave a nod. “The theatre-going public’s loss.”

“Indeed, sir. Well, here is your seat. Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Pierre,” said Watson as he adroitly slipped the man a coin.

* * *

“Excuse me, madam, but I can’t wait to be announced!” growled a voice from below. A shriek of surprise followed.

Holmes reached for his single stick as Raffles burst in the room.

“Holmes! You said a favour!”

“Molesting my landlady will win you no favours, Mister Raffles,” said Holmes with stern reproof.

Raffles surveyed the room and Holmes. “You’re going to do it tonight, aren’t you?”

“The date and hour that I am to employ your instruction is my business, Mister Raffles.”

“The deuce it is! You said ‘one favour.’ Well, here I am. I need to know where in the devil that safe is, and I need to know now.”

“Why?”

“That’s my business.”

They stared at one another, then Raffles flinched.

“Bunny. He’s gone to do himself, to recover your Watson’s pearls.” He wiped his face with his hand. “He drugged me and took my tools, including the Hornung drill, and left me a note. Some fool notion about trying to prove to me that he’s not a timid rabbit. But he’s in over his head, Holmes, way over his head with a Daimler. Damn it, tell me where he is before it’s too late!”

Holmes’s eyebrows rose. Then he nodded.

“I’ll tell you what I know, Mister Raffles, but perhaps we should discuss matters on the way to Ross-Reynolds’ residence. Time appears to be of the essence.”

“Ross-Reynolds!” Raffles’ face drained of colour. “You got that right. Let’s go.”

* * *

“Jerome Ross-Reynolds call himself a financier, but he is, in fact, a scoundrel,” said Holmes quietly, his forehead inclined towards Raffles’ until they almost touched. “He derives his income from other people’s vices, penury, and pain: paid companionship, gambling, loans, blackmail, etcetera. He has been attached to a series of actresses and opera singers, outwardly functioning as a manager, discarding one when another more profitable and promising comes along. His current fiancée is Miss Sadie Piper.”

“I know very little of him, but he does sound like the kind of man who would own a Daimler safe. But how in the deuce did he end up with your Watson’s pearls?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal that, but I am certain that Watson’s pearls are currently in Ross-Reynolds’ possession.”

“How can you be certain?”

“I’ve seen them with my own eyes. I’ve spent two mornings disguised as a plumber doing repair work at Ross-Reynolds’ home in Willestead.”

“Willestead! So that’s where we’re going?”

“Yes. The pearls are distinctive: six large pearls of traditional white and two pink ones set in a necklace between gold scallop shells. I saw Miss Piper wearing them when she visited Mister Ross-Reynolds. I also overhead a heated conversation in which Mister Ross-Reynolds expressly forbid Miss Piper to wear the necklace to the theatre, citing your own handiwork as evidence that ‘there are wicked crooks about who would just as soon steal a granny’s teeth from her sleeping mouth!’”

“I never stole anyone’s teeth, Mister Holmes!”

Holmes chuckled. “I watched Ross-Reynolds put the pearls in the safe, and the servants confirmed that this was the customary practice. Miss Piper was not pleased, but she demurred. Here’s a crude map of the place.” Holmes passed Raffles a folded piece of paper.

“Two days? Well, you seem to have got the lay of the land.”

“I must confess that Watson did mention Mister Manders’ vow that he would recover the pearls himself but as your friend was well into his cups, Watson did not give the utterance much weight. Nor did I, frankly, until yesterday.”

Raffles studied the map. “Yesterday?”

“I caught Mister Manders doing his own reconnaissance, visiting Ross-Reynolds’ home in the guise of asking him for a loan. I did not hear much of the conversation; he was tossed out on his ear rather quickly.”

“By Jove, Bunny’s got some pluck, like Daniel getting a gander at the lion’s den!”

“Did Mister Manders ever mention a friendship with Miss Piper?”

“No, and I don’t think she’d be his type. Why?”

“Just a glance that I saw pass between them reflected in a poorly-polished drain pipe.”

“Bunny’s never mentioned her to me. He didn’t mention any of this business either because he knew I would not have let him take the drill for a solo gig. He knew I’d make him see sense, one way or another. According to his note, he just wants to prove he can do a job on his own and help a friend out in the process. If it was just cracking a Daimler, Bunny might make out all right—might—but to do it without anyone the wiser in a household like this?” He snorted, refolded the paper, and handed it back to Holmes with a nod.

Holmes nodded. “There are three servants, two guards, and a dog. You come armed?”

“Yes, and Bunny’s got his own, too, no doubt. You know, the more I learn about this business, the less I like it, Holmes. But, all right, let’s talk about exactly what kind of army we’re up against and what we’re going to do about them.”

* * *

Just as the theatre lights went up, Watson felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Yes, Pierre?”

“Doctor, Miss Sadie Piper has asked you to pay her a visit back stage.”

“Me?!”

Pierre nodded. “She requires a doctor. She’s having difficulty with her voice and may not be able to finish the second half. Will you come?”

“Certainly!”

Pierre led Watson through the chaos of backstage. Finally, he knocked on a door. “Miss Piper? It’s Pierre and Doctor Watson.”

A faint voice cried from within. “Come in!”

Watson stepped inside the small room and froze.

He wasn’t looking at the face of the woman or her costume or her surroundings. The whole of Watson’s attention was fixed on Sadie Piper’s neck—on the six large pearls and the two pink ones.

Delicate fingers fluttered to the stones. The voice that spoke was dry and hoarse.

“Doctor Watson, please…”

Watson stared numbly, then his mind began to whir. He shook his head slowly and murmured,

“The pearls. You’re _wearing_ the pearls. I’m sorry, miss. Very sorry. I’ve got to go…”

He backed out of the room.

“Doctor Watson!” she croaked. “Wait!”

Watson turned, his eyes searching frantically for a path of escape. He turned and collided with a large gentleman, who grunted and forcibly shoved him out of the way.

“Mister Ross-Reynolds,” said Pierre. “You really should not be here…”

The large man growled, pushed past Pierre, and plunged into the little room.

“What are you doing with those?! You took them out of the safe, didn’t you? Why you’re no better than a common thief yourself!”

“I can explain…”

Watson did not hear anymore, he was already running for the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Willestead is a mash of where the villains live, Willesden from "Willful Murder" and Hampstead from "Charles Augusts Milverston."


	3. Chapter 3

Bunny timed his arrival neatly, avoiding the patrolling watchman just as he turned the corner. With the drill secured tightly to his back in a large rucksack, he skillfully scaled the wall, landing with soft-footed feline grace on the other side.

There were no lights on in the house, and no sound save his own breathing, which he fought to keep steady and controlled.

Bunny donned a black silk mask and stole up to the tiled veranda. He had a trio of picks in his pocket for the door, but the first one he tried worked like a charm. He opened the door carefully, then peeked inside and listened for a moment.

Darkness. Silence.

Bunny retrieved a dark lantern from the rucksack. Then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He lit the lantern and made a survey of the interior, holding his breath until he saw them, two guards and a dog, lying sprawled on the floor of the kitchen. Glasses and a half-empty bottle of wine were on the table.

Bunny took a deep breath.

“Time to go to work.”

He hurried to the study and quickly lit a fire in the fireplace. Then he opened the cabinet that contained the safe.

“Hello, dragon. I’m Saint George. Prepare to be disemboweled.”

Bunny set the pieces of the drill one-by-one on the desk, then he ran his hands along the surface of the safe, picking three spots. He took a chisel and a hammer encased in thick cloth and marked where the rods would go.

An hour later, Bunny had bored three rods into the belly of the beast, applying the oil himself as he drilled while sweating himself into a formidable puddle. Then he set the round plate that secured the compass-like blades on top of the rods and began to turn it with a wrench. After a mere dozen rotations, the blades had done their work. Only a few heavy taps of the hammer were required to knock a large circle out of the wall of the safe.

Bunny shone the light inside the belly of the beast, then he reached his hand in and unfastened the door. It swung open.

The horde was unassuming: stacks of papers, envelopes of every size, and only one black velvet box.

Bunny grinned.

* * *

Bunny had just dropped the last of the dragon’s entrails into the hissing fire when he heard the front door.

He quickly closed the doors of the safe and the cabinet, then scurried beneath the desk, where he joined the rucksack, which was already packed and ready for flight.

Then Bunny heard something that made him start.

“Bunny?”

“Raffles!”

Bunny sprang up and threw open the cabinet and tore off his mask.

“I did it, Raffles!”

Raffles stood and stared at the scene behind Bunny, then he said, with a chuckle,

“By Jove, you did. Well done, Bunny.”

Bunny beamed. “I’ve got pluck, haven’t I, Raffles?”

“Yes, Bunny. In spades. More than anyone I’ve ever known. But you don’t have it prove it, ever, and certainly not like this, risking your life and your freedom.”

“But Raffles—”

“No servants and the two guards and the dog have been drugged,” said Sherlock Holmes as he entered the study. “Good evening, Mister Manders. I see you’ve done my work for me. Pity. All that good instruction gone to waste, Mister Raffles.”

Bunny blinked, then his expression fell stony. He sank his hand in his pocket.

“Don’t, Bunny,” warned Raffles. “He’s with me.”

“Yes, please, do not draw your weapon. I’m not here as a detective,” said Holmes. “I’m here as a thief. Are those Watson’s pearls?” He pointed to the black velvet case on top of the desk.

Bunny nodded.

“I had the very same idea,” said Holmes with an ingratiating smile. “Thank you. I know you had an additional motive in helping my friend,” he glanced at Raffles, “but I am grateful, nevertheless.”

“Bunny, you’ve made your point, and you,” Raffles looked at Holmes, “have got your pearls. Now let’s get out of here before that patrolman notices something’s funny about this house.”

Bunny reached under the desk and brought out the rucksack and handed it to Raffles. “I’m sorry for drugging you and taking your things. I knew you’d never let me go on my own.”

“I was more worried than angry, Bunny. You can tell me every single detail when we’re all safe. Come on.”

The three froze when the front door creaked once more.

The voice that spoke was soft and straining to the edge of panic.

“Oh, Christ, it’s dark! Holmes?”

“Watson!” cried Holmes.

“Holmes! Dear God, where are you?”

Holmes left the study, then reappeared leading Watson, who was out of breath and shaking, by the hand.

“Mister Manders, Mister Raffles,” panted Watson. “I got here as fast as I could when I realised…”

Watson’s voice died as he caught sight of the black velvet case on the desk.

“Your pearls, Doctor Watson,” said Bunny proudly.

Watson gawked at the case, then he looked up and gave Bunny a weak smile. “Mister Manders, you are an extraordinary friend as well as the most quixotic knight errant of modern days.” He dropped the case in an inside coat pocket. “Thank you very much. There’s so much to say, but…”

“Later,” said Raffles and Holmes at once.

Just then, the front door sounded again, not a creak but rather a slam followed by a roar.

“WHAT IN THE HELL IS THIS? HORACE? CLAUDE?”

And a feminine voice was heard.

“Rossy, please, don’t…”

The study had only one entrance. Holmes, Watson, and Raffles flattened themselves to the nearest wall, but Bunny strode, slowly and purposefully, towards the half-open door.

The footfall grew louder and the shouting angrier.

Raffles’ mouth was contorted in a silent scream. He lunged for Bunny, but Holmes held him back with an iron grip. At the last moment, Bunny tucked himself behind the door.

“WHAT?!”

Ross-Reynolds charged into the room. For an instant, he stared disbelievingly at the empty safe. Then, with revolver drawn, he whirled ‘round.

“YOU!”

BANG!

BANG!

Ross-Reynolds crumpled to the ground.

Bunny stood with arm extended, revolver clasped in his hand. Sadie Piper stepped forward until she stood just behind Bunny. She was his mirror image. She, too, had an arm extended. She, too, had a gun in her hand. Without dropping her arm, without lowering her weapon, she walked slowly and deliberately, passing Bunny, until she was standing directly over Ross-Reynolds.

Then she pointed the gun down.

BANG!

“My dear,” exclaimed Watson as he rushed to her. He put both of his hands around the hand that held the gun. She let him take it from her without protest.

“I’m sorry. I killed him.”

“’Sorry’ is as good as hanged, my dear. Come with us, and we’ll get you out of this mess,” said Watson, glancing at Holmes, who nodded and then looked at Raffles.

“Yeah, Bunny and I will take care of each other,” said Raffles, striding forward and clapping an arm around Bunny’s shoulders.

“The patrolman passes at the quarter hour,” mumbled Bunny. He lowered his gun but did not looking away from Ross-Reynolds’ inert, bleeding form.

“If necessary, we’ll lead the police and whoever else from here so you two can make your escape,” said Holmes, “in the other direction, toward the heath.”

“Thank you, Mister Manders,” said Sadie called as Holmes and Watson ushered her out the study door.

“You’re welcome,” said Bunny softly. “And thank _you_.”

* * *

Sadie began shirking out of her clothes as she sprinted towards a far corner of the ivied wall.

“What in heavens!” whispered Watson, frowning at the trail of discarded items, as he and Holmes raced after her.

“Look, Watson,” whispered Holmes as Sadie reached for something in a thicket. She quickly exchanged the rest of her outer clothing for a young man’s evening costume, and the transformation was as swift as it was complete. “Very nice, Mister—”

“Edwards,” said Sadie in a low gruff voice.

“Magnificent!” breathed Watson.

“Elementary, my dear Watson,” said Sadie with a wink.

“Don’t steal my lines, Edwards,” said Holmes. “Not while there’s a good chance you may still hang.”

Sadie gave Holmes a bemused look, then her expression changed to one of surprise and she gasped. “Oh!” Her hands went to the back of her neck inside the shirt collar, then she brought forth the necklace that had been ‘round her neck.

Watson reached into his coat and pulled out the case and opened it.

Sadie dropped the necklace into the open case, mouthing a silent, ‘I _am_ sorry.’

Watson snapped the case closed and returned it to his pocket with a whispered, ‘I’m not— _yet_.’

“Enough,” said Holmes in a low voice. “Let’s go.”

“This way out,” said Sadie. She led Holmes and Watson to the wall, then she pulled aside a thick curtain of ivy to reveal a gate. The gate opened without a squeak.

Holmes pushed forward and peeked out first. Then he made a silent beckoning gesture.

The three had crossed two streets when they heard the full alarm go up behind them, a loud whistle followed by the patrolman’s shout.

The exclamations grew greater in number, though softer in tone as the three put more distance between themselves and the house.

The cries of ‘Murder!’ Of ‘Dear God!’ Of ‘Police!’

They kept walking, Holmes and Watson on either side of Sadie. They did not look at one another, and they did not look back.  

As they walked, Holmes gradually took the lead, guiding Watson and Sadie for a mile’s worth of streets and side streets then finally into a house and then through it and out to the back garden into an adjoining garden and a second house. They went upstairs. Holmes securing the curtains before lighting a single taper.

“First train to Liverpool, then America,” said Sadie. “To start again. New country. New name. New life.”

Holmes nodded. “They’ll be looking for you.”

“They’ll try,” she said smugly. “Unless you help them.”

“Not a chance,” said Watson, his brow furrowed. “But shall we go with you, my dear? At least as far as Liverpool?”

She shook her head and smiled. “No, you’ve done enough, Doctor. Just make certain it’s known that Sadie Piper killed Jerome Ross-Reynolds. Don’t let them arrest Mister Manders. He’s rather wonderful, isn’t he? Like you.”

“I shan’t rest easy until I receive word in your hand from New York,” said Watson. “And I shall always be an admirer, regardless of your name or your country of residence.”

“And whether I hang or not, I shall always be an admirer of yours, Doctor,” she replied, then added, “And you, too, of course, Mister Sherlock Holmes.”

Holmes snorted. “We can at least rig you up like a proper sailor and get you to Euston without incident.”

“Thank you.”

Watson watched while Sadie and Holmes worked.

“One thing, Edwards,” said Holmes. “I must know the truth: you drugged the guards and the dog?”

“Yes. And gave all the servants the night off.”

“And oiled the gate?”

“And hid a change of costume by the laurels. And purposefully wore the pearls to enrage Rossy. While he was cursing me, I told him I’d heard a rumour that Horace and Claude were planning a robbery, and that’s all it took for him to drag me back to Willestead that very instant.”

“So, you could kill him?”

“Yes. I’m not sorry about that. Do you know what kind of man he was?”

“We know,” said Watson. “I’m just sorry I missed the final performance of Sadie Piper.”

“My understudy had to gone on. Rossy dragged me out the back of the theatre by my hair.” She shrugged. “You saw the final performance, Doctor. Sadie Piper is dead.”

Watson swallowed. “Well, Edwards the sailor appears to be one not one to be trifled with.”

“And the gun?” asked Holmes.

“One of Rossy’s own. He didn’t miss it.”

“You’ve your passage ready?”

“Yes. Thank you. I know that you don’t know me, Mister Holmes—”

Holmes rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Doctor Watson vouchsafes for you, my dear, that is enough for me. He is an excellent judge of character and character flaws. Now, let’s get you to Euston.”

* * *

“Bunny!” Raffles clapped Bunny on the back once more, but with greater force. “I assume you’ve an escape strategy?”

Bunny started out of his daze, then nodded.

“Run!”

They ran.

They ran out of the study and out of the house through the back door, just as the patrolman was circling the edifice.

He raised a view-halloo, shouting and blowing a whistle, then gave pursuit.

Bunny threaded his way through the trees, with Raffles, who was slowed by the heavy sack strapped to his back, on his heels.

When they reached the wall, Bunny sprang to the top and over. Raffles followed clumsily behind but cleared. Bunny reached up and steadied him as he fell.

Then they were on their feet and running once more.

They heard the faint sounds of their pursuer cursing and scraping against the far side of stone wall as they dashed away towards the expanse of heath.

They ran for miles.

They ran until they reached the other side of the heath, then finally hid themselves beneath a bridge.

“Should we risk going to the Chelsea studio,” began Raffles, panting, “before Victoria? Traveling with no trunks and as much money as we have on us might be suspicious and inconvenient.

“That’s your thought?” asked Bunny, who was also panting. “Dover, then France.”

“Yes, I was thinking we might need the option of going into exile for a while, so after I woke from my drugged stupor but before I set off looking for you, I had the fellow at The Albany send a wire to Lupin accepting his invitation. I can check this,” he patted the sack, “at Victoria and mail the claim ticket to Holmes when we reach the Continent.”

Bunny smiled. “I may very well hang all the same. Perhaps you should go yourself and leave me to my fate, Raffles.”

“You’re my man, Bunny. I’m not leaving you. You hang, I hang.”

“I _am_ your man, Raffles.”

“And you might have broken into this bastard’s house, cleaned out his safe, and stolen his pearls, but there’s no telling who which bullet killed, yours or the girl’s. She certainly finished him off. Holmes, Watson, and I will all swear that it was self-defense. Ross-Reynolds had drawn his weapon. He would have killed both you and girl and the rest of us.”

“I don’t think the courts will make such a fine distinction. And I would never drawn Doctor Watson into this mess.”

“He’s already drawn in, Bunny, and Holmes, too. They were drawn in the moment you got the fool notion to play the hero and recover those dashed pearls!”

Bunny laughed ruefully and shook his head.

“Oh, my dear Raffles…”


	4. Chapter 4

“Look at you!” said Watson in the cab after they’d left Euston station. “Eyes closed, at peace with the world. I wish I could be the same. Holmes, what are you thinking?”

“I am estimating, Watson.”

“What? The probability that she’ll escape to America. The probability that my friend—or all of us—will hang?”

“I am estimating the cost of a new rug as by dawn you’re bound to wear ours to tatters with your fretful pacing when we arrive home. Shall we alight here?”

“Why?”

“There’s an ideal spot around that corner for dropping unwanted items into the large body of moving water that traverses this dark metropolis.”

Watson grunted.

The cab left them, and Holmes took Watson by the arm.

“You know, my dear man…”

“Yes, I know, Holmes, that she tricked or, perhaps, , openly convinced Manders to kill Ross-Reynolds for her. I know she lied. Ross-Reynolds was precisely the type of man who would’ve noticed if one of his guns went missing. And it wasn’t his gun. I was a soldier once, remember, though not for long, of course. But even this soldier can discriminate between a real weapon and a stage prop, even when it’s resting in his pocket. This thing I took from her will make a loud noise or two, but it certainly won’t kill anyone. Nevertheless, we’ve got to be rid of it, for her sake.”

Holmes smiled. “My dear, dear Watson, your limits, I’ll never get them. Will you do me the honour of allowing me to guide you as to precisely where and when to dispose of it?”

“I’m yours to be used, Holmes.”  

* * *

“…I killed him.”

“She fired, too, Bunny. Twice.”

Bunny shook his head. “She gave the servants the night off and drugged the guards and the dog. She got Ross-Reynolds there at the right time, how, I don’t know, but she did. But she said she couldn’t, or rather, she said she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to, when the moment arrived, pull the trigger. She said she would take the blame for it, hang for it, if necessary, she was planning to leave for America, anyway, but she wasn’t certain she could commit the crime. But I could do it. And I told her I would do it if she helped me. She did her part. And I did mine. Doctor Watson’s pearls were just a bit of smoke, a horrid coincidence that I heard at a pub and immediately took advantage of so as make the whole thing seem like a robbery or a test of my pluck, rather than what it was.”

“Which was?”

“Premeditated murder.”

“Murder!”

“I thought you’d wake up in the morning and I’d have made it back in time to retrieve the note and return the drill like nothing ever happened. Or, if you happened to wake up early, I’d say I’d cracked the safe and been surprised and killed Ross-Reynolds on accident. I didn’t count on you—much less Doctor Watson and Mister Holmes—being there to witness the murder.”

Raffles frowned. “But why kill him in the first place, Bunny?”

Bunny reached behind him, underneath his coat, and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to Raffles, then looked around warily and lit a match.

“Dear God,” said Raffles as the flame illuminated the image.

“Ross-Reynolds was going to use this to make us work for him, to steal for him. He must’ve had someone working for him at the Northumberland bath. And if that someone took this photograph of us, just think how many other fellows he caught? Without saying exactly what or how I knew, I told Doctor Watson that the place had become dangerously indiscrete. After all, he and Holmes are regular patrons, too. It might just as easily have been them.”

“I doubt Holmes ever sodded Watson while he was wearing thousands of pounds in stolen sapphires, Bunny!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Raffles, who knows what those two get up to? Anyway, I don’t know what happened, but the bath’s closed now. Ross-Reynolds showed me this and told me we’d have to work for him from now on. Steal for him. I told him it would be better for me to talk to you, to convince you. We met at his club the first time. I asked for a meeting at his home yesterday. He thought I was acquiescing. I asked for a loan instead. He was insulted and became furious. It was all a ploy to see the inside of his home, to see the safe where I knew the photograph would be. And the safe turned out to be Daimler. You know the rest.”

“Bunny…”

“Burn it, please. The longer it exists, the more danger we’re in.”

“Hold it, then give me the matches.”

As the photograph went up in flames, Raffles said,

“How shameless am I? Even as I’m burning it, I wish I could frame it. You look so good, Bunny.”

Bunny laughed. “I’m your man and your match, Raffles, in everything, including shamelessness. Even as you’re burning it, I wish I could pose for another.” Then his voice fell to a sober whisper. “You know, I may still hang.”

“Not while I’ve breath, Bunny, not while I’ve a single breath left. Chelsea. Victoria. Dover. France. We’ll keep going if we have to. North Africa. Australia. Together. To the end.”

* * *

“Sorry to pay a call on you so early, Mister Holmes, and interrupt your breakfast.”

“Nonsense, Lestrade. Shall I ask Mrs. Hudson to set another place?”

“No, thank you, sir, but is that your good landlady’s coffee?”

“It is,” said Watson. “And take a doctor’s testimonial that this potent brew is guaranteed to cure whatever is even _contemplating_ ailing you.”

“Well, that’s what I need this morning, thank you, sir. Perhaps you’ll be so good as to help us out with something, Mister Holmes. There’s been a murder by a gang of thieves in Willestead. Jerome Ross-Reynolds. He called himself a financier. But he was, in fact, a crook that we’d never been able to bring to justice.”

“A gang of thieves, you say?” asked Watson. He frowned as he buttered his toast.

“Yes, at least three, but possibly as many as five, judging by the footprints about the place. And assuredly Ross-Reynolds’ fiancée, the actress Miss Sadie Piper, was part of the gang. She’s gone missing.”

Watson tut-tutted. “And I just saw her last night in _Bluebird Follies_. Uncommonly good actress.”

“How did she seem, Doctor?” asked Lestrade.

Watson shrugged. “She was wonderful in the first act. Then she developed an acute and severe case of laryngitis and didn’t go on for the second act.”

Lestrade harrumphed. “Or so she said. She’s in it, all right.”

“I wish I could be of assistance, Inspector,” said Holmes, “but Watson and I have an appointment at the bank at ten o’ clock and then we are headed abroad. The French government has requested that I look into a small matter for them.”

“Well, that’s a shame, Mister Holmes. This fellow Ross-Reynolds wasn’t what you’d call an ‘upstanding member of society’ but I can’t pick my victims, can I? I’ve got descriptions of two of the five who were seen fleeing the residence, but they’re so vague, why they might be you and Doctor Watson!” He burst out laughing.

Watson and Holmes laughed heartily, too. Then Holmes said,

“Don’t worry, Inspector. There’s no honour among thieves, and if it is a gang, one of the links will break eventually.”

“As you say, sir, as you say.”

* * *

“Do you see yet, Holmes?” asked Watson after the bank attendant closed the door behind them.

“In a glass darkly, my dear man. If I might have a look at the pearls.”

Watson drew out the pearls from his pocket and handed them to Holmes. As Holmes examined them, Watson unlocked the metal box with a small key.

“They’re fake,” said Holmes.

Watson hummed. “You were right: I would never give a music hall coquette my late wife’s jewelry.” He reached in the box and pulled out a strand of six silvery beads. “These are Mary’s.”

“Sadie Piper was the flower seller,” said Holmes. “I confess that I didn’t recognise her face. Something in her voice when she called him ‘Rossy.’”

Watson nodded. “I did, in fact, meet her where and when I said I did. She was kind to me, I’ve always liked her, and I have followed her career with interest. I gave her money, then and now. I didn’t know she was going to kill Ross-Reynolds tonight. Or rather, I didn’t know she was going to use Manders to kill him. She’s had that necklace since I met her. Rossy gave it to her. She recently exchanged the pearls for paste. That’s how she got the money for the passage to America. He didn’t know, of course. But she wasn’t supposed to be wearing the pearls at all last night. He never let her wear them to the theatre. They were supposed to be in the safe for you to steal.” He sighed. “But she suffered a great deal at Rossy’s hands and now, I hope, she can start anew.”

“She fooled me.”

“Yes. That was the point. You have a blind spot where clever women are concerned. And Sadie is such a good actress. You were only supposed to steal the pearls. That’s all.”

“But, why, Watson? Why send me on this wild goose chase?”

“Revenge. For all the times you’ve sent me places without telling me why. Do you still believe that dissimulation is not one of my talents? I lied to you. Told you a fabulous yarn and you believed it. I manipulated you. Sent you from the East End to Willestead and put you in no little danger for something that did not exist. I lied and manipulated you so that you might know exactly what I’m capable of—and exactly how it feels when you do the same to me! That blow you felt. When was it? Last night? When you realised who Sadie was and, therefore, what I must be? Remember that. Remember that feeling. Can you imagine how much stronger it would be, how paralysing it would feel, if I pretended to be dead for three years?! Now, do you think I would have betrayed you?”

“Watson…”

“I did it for revenge,” repeated Watson. “And out of spite. I am not noble. I am foolish. I let Sadie use me for her own purposes, but I am not her partner, Holmes. And if you cannot trust me more than you have, you cannot be mine! I lied because I am angry and tired of being kept in the dark and fed excrement like a mushroom!”

“Watson…”

“I have rooms in Queen Anne’s Street. If you wish me to take them, I shall. You can go to Paris on your own, and I will be gone by your return.”

Throughout Watson’s confession, Holmes’ expression had been impassive. At this, however, his face became a mask of frank surprise. “You wish to leave Baker Street?!”

“I’ve no wish to leave, but I am prepared to leave. Having no notion of how you would react to the truth, I wanted to be ready, and I was always going to tell you the truth.”

“Please don’t leave, Watson. I’m—”

Watson raised a hand. “No! I don’t want apologies without change, Holmes. No more sending me on errands without the full facts, no more involving me in dramatics—especially those that involve your death or dying—without my consent, no more using my pain and panic and grief for your own purposes, and no more treating me like a pawn on a chessboard or a simpleton who needs to be coddled for his own good!”

Holmes pressed his lips together, then he took a deep breath.

“I haven’t the words right now, Watson, but with a train journey and a Channel crossing and a case, a case that we might solve together as partners, I’ll find them and prove them through acts.”

“If we don’t hang.”

“We won’t hang. Please, come to Paris, Watson.”

“All right. On to Victoria.”

“Thank you. And what of these?” asked Holmes, holding up the fake pearls.

“Worth dropping in the Channel, I think?”

Holmes nodded. “Shall I have the honour?”

“By all means.”


	5. Chapter 5

Holmes approached the bar and made a motion to the barman, then he addressed the figure sitting on the high stool.

“Mister Raffles, how are you this fine evening? And may I compliment you on your form today. Even to my untutored eye, it was obvious that you played exceptionally well.”

Raffles turned. “Thank you and good evening, Mister Holmes! I was pleasantly surprised to see you among the spectators this afternoon. I understood you to say that the only sport you followed was the criminal chase.”

“With Mister Manders and Watson both offering colourful commentary, it would be difficult not to be swept up in the spirit of competition and appreciate the displays of athletic prowess. I enjoyed myself very much.”

“You may have a Boswell in Doctor Watson, but I have a matchless publicity agent in Bunny. I would be quite lost without him.”

A drink appeared before Holmes. He lifted it and said, “Cheers to the good fortune of sharing this life with remarkable partners who know us better than we know ourselves.”

“I’ll drink to that. Cheers.” Their glasses touched. “But I should congratulate you as well, Mister Holmes. Another reason that I was surprised to see you in Cannes today was because I’d just read in the morning papers about your success in aiding the Parisian police in apprehending Huret the Boulevard Assassin.”

“It was a most intriguing case, and, of course, Watson played an invaluable role. But he and I agreed that after a fortnight of ceaseless work, we were due for a rest, so we decided to come here. Mister Manders says you’re faring very well.”

“We are. We’ve finally begun to relax and recover.”

“Good.”

They drank in silence for a while, then Holmes said softly,

“If I might broach a delicate subject, Mister Raffles, there is one part of the puzzle that I am still missing. I wish to know it for my own edification alone. You are at perfect liberty not to tell me, of course. I shan’t be affronted if you refuse, and I hope you that you shan’t be offended by my asking. The question is a simple one: why? It wasn’t simply a question of a loan refused.”

Their eyes met.

Then finally, Raffles said, “How ‘bout an exchange? I could use a world-famous detective on my side. Same bargain as before? One favour, no questions asked?”

Holmes narrowed his gaze, sipped his drink, then replied,

“Agreed.”

“You’re a sleuth, Mister Holmes, so I’ll give you a clue and you can work it out for yourself.”

“All right.”

“Isn’t it a pity that the Northumberland bath shut down? Bunny mentioned that you and Doctor Watson were also enthusiastic patrons. Well, I suppose it’s all for the best.”

Holmes’ eyebrows rose. “Really?” he whispered just before burying his face in his glass.

“I knew nothing until it was all over, and Bunny told me,” added Raffles under his breath. “By the way, Bunny told Watson something about the bath, but I don’t think it was everything.”

Holmes set his glass down on the bar and hummed. “Thank you for confidence, Mister Raffles. If Watson were in Mister Manders’ shoes, he might have acted much the same way. Mister Manders has an extraordinary amount of…”

“Pluck?” suggested Raffles as he offered Holmes a Sullivan and lit one for himself.

“I was going to employ the French _je nai sais quoi_ ,” said Holmes with a smile. “But ‘pluck’ is more apt.”

“A man can lose money or honour, but if he still has pluck, well, there’s always a way.”

“Indeed. And I think there is a certain pluck or, perhaps, courage is a better word, in admitting one’s mistakes and making amends. In not being blind to the way one’s actions affect others and not taking advantage of the trust that is placed in one.”

Raffles stared at Holmes with a slight frown. Then his brow smoothed, and he nodded. “It’s certainly a time to take stock of what’s important as well as rest.” He drained his glass. “Well, I’d better go rescue Bunny from the baccarat table before he loses his shirt and has to wear mine.”

“Oh, no, not that,” said Holmes with mock horror. “Watson used to gamble, but these days he’s far too—” He looked over his shoulder. “Oh, dear, I believe he’s joined Mister Manders at baccarat.”

Raffles snorted. “Thick as thieves, those two.” He paid for his drink and Holmes’.

“You’re too kind, Mister Raffles.”

“Not at all, Mister Holmes.”

“You know, one day I hope to use the instruction you provided on the, what do you call it, the gold and green dragon.”

“And if you do, Mister Holmes, and if I know of it, I shall find it a form of flattery.”


End file.
